Chapter 3: Hunter
The mighty roar of the Grublin warchief boomed within the room's cramped confines. The creature barrelled through the crumbling doorway, a crude spiked club raised above its head. The first rat to die never saw him coming. He barely had the time to raise himself from the ground when the club slammed into him with a sickening crunch, tossing his body across the room like a broken doll and crashing against a bookcase.
The five surviving rats picked up their weapons and tools from the ground and rushed him, letting out a wordless war cry through their masks and crude rebreathers. Soon every other sound was drowned out by the screaming and the cacophony of battle.
Spyro pulled savagely at his restraints again and again. His mind raced; it was only a matter of time before the warchief finished them off and turned its attention on him. The young dragon kept on pulling until his wrists ached against the cold metal, yet to no avail. They were too strong.
"Right, this isn't working," Spyro muttered to himself. A blood-chilling cry rung out as the towering Grublin gored a second assailant and ripped open her ribcage with a powerful swing. The tiled pavement was slick with blood and other stuff that Spyro really didn't want to look at.
The young dragon drew on every ounce of power at his disposal, and the orange scales on his chest glowed, bright and hot-burning fire swirling within him. He tilted his head up, eyes narrowed in concentration, and let out a controlled stream of magical fire on the chains around his wrists. His scales shielded him from the heat, even though he could see the black marks left on the wooden table as the chain's metal glowed red, then white.
Spyro gave one last pull and the chain around his left foreleg snapped and came undone.
"Much better," he commented, and set out to work on his right arm. He had to struggle to keep the flow of magical fire from faltering; his reserves of power had to be low. How long had he been chained on that table anyway? And why?
That line of questioning was brought on an immediate end by another scream. Spyro glanced a moment up and immediately regretted doing so. The warchief had ripped an arm off from one of the rats, bellowing in rage as the others kept on stabbing it with blades and hitting it with cudgels. Another rat was sent sprawling back with a sweep of his massive arm. Spyro was confident he had heard a bone snap.
Banishing those thoughts, Spyro set out to work with even greater urgency. Several agonizing seconds later, the chain snapped as well, sending hot bits and half-melted links of metal flying. The leather straps around his wings were much easier to deal with; his claws had remained sharp and despite the stiffness and soreness in his muscles he cut himself free. Spyro struggled to push himself upright, his back aching after the long time spent on that table, so that he could start freeing his legs as well.
It was then that a sudden realization pushed its way through his mind up to the forefront. The sounds of battle had ceased. He looked up.
The Grublin warchief towered over him, blood covering his parched and sickly-looking skin, crude armour, and splattered across his shield. Gore dripped down from the spiked mace and onto the pavement. Meanwhile, raw and unlimited hatred radiated off from unnatural eyes.
Spyro never had the time to react. A large, clawed hand slammed him back down, tightening around his neck in a vicious grip, threatening to crush him. The Grublin was close enough that the rancid, unbearable stench emanating from its maws assaulted Spyro's nostrils. Fighting back against the tide of nausea and the swimming vision, Spyro was out of options and did the only thing he could. He spat flames in his face.
The warchief shrieked, staggering back as it covered its face, relenting his grip. It was not a proper fireball, yet it was effective. The air smelled of burned fur. The young dragon barely had the time to dozily climb back on his feet only to see the Grublin coming back again, hollering in rage as the club came down.
Spyro dodged out of the way, or at least tried to. He remembered too late about the chains still wrapped around his hind legs. He tripped and rolled sideways, the club missing his head by mere inches as it split the table in half. Wooden splinters filled the air, and Spyro hit the cold stone floor with a grunt, pain flaring up in his back.
Once again there was no time. The Grublin warchief charged him, his club coming as a blur. Still on the ground, Spyro rolled out of the way, the club smashing where his head had been with enough force to crack the stone. Eyes narrowed in focus, Spyro let out another gust of flames from his mouth. The Grublin simply raised his shield. Flames smashed against it and quickly dissipated, leaving a considerable scorch mark but failing to get through. And as the big Grublin lowered it, Spyro swore the thing's maw were twisting in a vicious grin.
He opened his maws once again, ready to let out another burst of flame.
'Got to get myself some space. There's no way I'm fighting this thing while flat on my back.'
The chains had somehow come loose around his ankles. If he could move freely, Spyro reasoned, then he had a fighting chance.
"You like fire? Let's see how you handle some lightning then!" Spyro snarled. He opened his mouth, a bright bolt of pure electricity blasting outward. And then immediately fizzled out.
Spyro blinked. He had not realized his own reserves were that low to begin with. The only thing it did was leaving him a metallic aftertaste.
He glanced up only to see the Grublin laughing openly, or at least that's what he thought it was doing. He couldn't make out what sounds were coming out of that unnatural larynx. The warchief growled, its tone clipped, then gestured toward Spyro with its a clawed hand.
The young dragon raised an eyebrow at that. Why wasn't that thing attacking him? And then it struck him.
'It's . . . it's asking me to get back up? Is that what it wants?'
Spyro wasted no time and scrambled back to his paws. The soreness in his muscles had passed, replaced with a burning flow of adrenaline throughout his veins. The Purple Dragon lowered himself in a combat stance, wings spread out at either side. His head hung low, tail-blade at the ready. His eyes were narrowed as he studied his opponent.
Without his powers, this would have to be done in the hard way. The claws on his left foreleg ticked rhythmically on the stone.
"Alright then. You want a fight? Come on, let's see what you can do."
The Grublin let out a slow, guttural sound before advancing on him, weapons at the ready. The blood on its club had already started to dry up. Spyro had no intention to add his own. The first strike came low, the club's head whistling through the air as Spyro leapt back and out of the way. Without missing a beat, the Grublin struck again, turning the upward strike into a downward swing.
Spyro was quick on his feet though. He dodged to the left, then twisted his own body around to lash out with his tail-blade at the Grublin's blind side. A painful grunt from his opponent told him that his attack had been successful, and as Spyro shifted back into a fighting stance he noticed the gash into the warchief's side. It was the young dragon's turn to smirk.
The Grublin warchief let out an irritated growl, but it did not strike again. The two opponents circled around each other, feet shuffling and scrapping against stone. Spyro narrowed his eyes, muscles tensed and ready for the smallest movement, ears tuned for the faintest of sounds. They flicked as he caught movement behind. There was the soft twang of a bow.
Something smacked against his neck's scales and caused him to flinch as he spun around. An arrow clattered to the ground somewhere behind. Three more Grublins, smaller ones, emerged through the doorway, their shrill cries assaulting his ears. Spyro's mind registered a spear to the right, a short sword to his left, and a bow behind the first two. Instincts honed by uncountable fights kicked in and a wingbeat later the he had already closed the distance against the trio of new assailants.
The spear-wielding Grublin let out a surprised yelp as Spyro charged him, his robust pair of horns slamming into it with the force of a sledgehammer and sending it flying against a wall. The second Grublin raised its blade only to receive powerful blow across its face, curtesy of Spyro's claws. The dragon spun around, his tail lashing out and swiping at the third Grublin's legs just as it tried to notch a second arrow. Without missing a beat, Spyro struck the Grublin with the sword once again, throwing the creature up into the air, before jumping and slamming it back down with a strike of his tail. The Grublin crashed with a cry on top of its archer companion, effectively knocking off both of them.
Spyro allowed himself a small smirk. And then fresh pain exploded into his side as he found himself flying across the room. He let out a groan as his back struck a bookshelf, followed by the sound of snapping wood and crashing glass. He only partially registered his body slumping back down on the ground, mostly because every single inch of his being burned with pain. His surroundings swung around him in a fog of dizziness, his head pulsating painfully. Even his breathing came out in labouring gasps. Then came the footsteps.
Spyro's eyes glanced up, with just enough energy left to bring into focus the sight of the Grublin warchief advancing on him, no hurry in its stride as it cackled in satisfaction. A part of his mind still functioning realized that it had all been a trick, that the Grublins coming in were nothing more than a distraction. Spyro made one last feeble attempt to climb back up on his paws, but it was of no use. His magic reserves were spent, and he felt so tired.
The warchief raised its spiked club, ready to deliver the final blow and splatter most of Spyro's brain across the floor.
"Hey, ugly! Over here!"
The Grublin warchief stopped, blinking in confusion. It tilted its head.
"Yeah, you! Who do you think I'm talking to? You're one ugly piece of work if I ever saw one!"
It took some time for Spyro's mind to register the faint ball of light hovering before him. His curiosity however lasted for barely a heartbeat, being quickly replaced by horrified realization.
"Honestly, I can't tell if I'm talking to your face or your arse right now," Sparx said. He waved a hand in front of his nose to emphasize it. "I mean, with that smell there isn't probably any difference!"
The warchief let out an annoyed snort and tried to slap the small dragonfly out of its way. Sparx simply flicked out of the way with a mocking chuckle. The two pair of wings hummed softly on his back.
"Yup, definitely the arse! What's the problem, big guy, can't deal with one dragonfly?"
"Sparx!" Spyro hissed under his breath. "What are you doing? Get out of here!"
His friend said nothing, darting out of the way of another strike. His mocking laughter echoed in the room, infuriating the warchief even further. Its club swung erratically and furiously through the air.
"How about we stop a moment so I can get you a pair of glasses? Maybe then you're gonna actually hit something!" Sparx kept going. "I'm honestly curious, is this the best Malefor's goons have to offer? Did he give you muscles but forgot to add a bit of brain? And to think I was worried for a moment!"
The warchief roared in indignation as it swung its club once more. A bookshelf disintegrated, bits of parchment flying; an alchemical set nearby exploded into thousands of glass shards as the components within spread everywhere and begun burning on the warchief's parched skin. The creature didn't care though. Its massive chest raised and fell, panting as it tried to keep up with the dragonfly.
As for Sparx, he was just getting more creative with the insults with each moment.
"What the hell are you even supposed to be? You look like somebody tried to create an actual living thing by smashing together a pile of dung and mud, only to then give up halfway through!"
Still, those blows were getting a bit too close for Spyro's liking. He could see his friend was tiring as well, and the warchief just needed to get lucky once. He grinded his teeth together, gathering his strength so to finally get up. Pain and exhaustion burned through his body.
"Alright . . . how about . . . how about we pause this whole thing for a moment," Sparx said. His confident voice cracked as the fatigue made itself known. He came to a stop over the remains of the operating table, the rhythm in his wings faltering. Even then, he couldn't resist one final jab. "Maybe now you're finally gonna hit me. How . . . how about that, big guy, ready for one last try?"
"Sparx! Stop pissing it off and get out of here!"
Sparx shot a look over his shoulder and at his friend. He gave him a wink.
"Relax, I know what I'm doing."
"Do you really?"
"Eh, more or less." His eyes jerked back to the warchief. The creature was leaning with one clawed hand against the wall, huffing and puffing heavily. Its hate-filled eyes were settled on Sparx, who had taken the chance to raise his puny fists up in a guard stance, as if he was ready to fight.
Spyro blinked, eyes wide. "Sparx, what the-"
"You know what? I'm gonna be making this one simple. I'm not moving this time. There, is that easy enough for you or you need me to hold your hand all the way? Come on, you are not afraid of becoming the first Grublin to lose to a dragonfly, are you?"
The warchief sprang into action with surprising speed, jaws open wide and spitting, its claws tight around its weapon, hollering all the while. In the end the sudden burst of speed mattered little, it just meant that it would get to die faster.
The warchief howled in pain as an arrow soared through the air and slammed in the back of its kneecap, breaking its run. It tumbled forward, its face slamming against the stone as the momentum carried it forward.
A shadow flew into the room, jumped up and drove its feet on the back of the warchief, causing it to let out another painful growl. Spyro caught the glint of a spear's tip into the shadow's paws, just before it drove the weapon into the back of the head of the now prone warchief. The thing jerked, then went finally still, the gore-caked club clattering on the floor.
The shadow rose from its crouch on the dead creature's back. Brown robes covered its face, and a pair of long furry ears jutted out from its head. Then, another shadow made its appearance, passing through the doorway, a bow held at the ready and scanning the room.
Meanwhile, with one last huff of exhaustion, Sparx plopped down on a wooden chair that had miraculously survived the complete thrashing the rest of the room had gone through. He laid back on the wooden seat and tried to catch his breath.
"Are there any others?" the bow-wielding shadow said, his voice deep.
"Nah, I-I reckon that was . . . that was the last one of them. You are welcome by the way," Sparx retorted amidst ragged breaths.
"That was very brave of you," he continued. Sparx shook his head.
"Small correction. That was incredibly stupid of me. Next . . . next time you do the whole bait thing." He sighed. "But yeah, thanks I guess."
"Fair," he said, then went ahead to lower his cowl, revealing a feline muzzle and the pair of glinting green eyes just above. His pointy ears flicked for a moment as his gaze settled on Spyro. The young dragon slowly climbed back to his paws despite the occasional ache flaring up throughout his muscles. He eyed them both warily, even though the fact that Sparx seemed to know them soothed his worries a bit.
Besides, they had just saved his hide.
The cheetah dipped his head. "Greetings, young Spyro. Our meeting was long overdue, though I had hoped for better circumstances. Still, it is a great honour for me." Then, a sudden note of worry entered his tone. "Are you injured?"
Despite his initial surprise, Spyro shook his head, struggling not to flinch due to the pain "I . . . well, just a bit. That thing caught me off guard," he said, tilting his head toward the fallen warchief.
"Thanks for the help, but can I ask you why do you know my name? I don't remember meeting you before."
The cheetah tilted his head quizzically to the side. Then he let out a chuckle. "Of course. We never met face to face. Back on Skabb's flying arena, I had to rely on written messages to communicate with you." He placed a paw on his chest, smiling. "My name is Hunter, from the Avalar Tribe."
It took but an eyeblink for that name to resonate within Spyro's mind. He blinked, old memories suddenly flaring up.
"Hunter? You . . . you have been tracking me."
"And for a long time as well. I'm glad my search was not fruitless." Hunter scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I must send a message to Ignitus once we reach safety. He will surely want to hear the good news. Can you walk?"
Spyro attempted a shrug before seemingly giving up mid-way. "K-Kinda?"
"I see," Hunter said. He kneeled in front of Spyro before reaching back into his leather bag. Much of Spyro's confusion dissipated as the cheetah pulled out a small glowing Soul Gem from it, presenting it to him.
"It has always fascinated me how your kind manages to draw strength from these crystals. Though I couldn't carry one bigger with me, I hope it will grant you back enough energy for the travel to the surface."
Spyro hesitated for a moment before reaching out with both forelegs and accepting the gift. The moment his paws entered into contact with it, a familiar and welcomed tingle began to spread through his body, numbing the pain and fatigue that had been plaguing him. Even breathing seemed to become easier. He flashed the cheetah a grateful smile.
"Thank you, I really needed that. By the way, you said something about going back to the surface. Where are we exactly? What is going on?"
Hunter nodded. "There is little time to explain now. In short, we are in Jackai-Kul, an underground complex dedicated to the Dark Master." He waved a paw towards the remains of the room's former occupants. "The rats have given themselves to Malefor and now fight for him. Consider any on their kin that we meet in these tunnels an enemy."
Spyro nodded, quickly looking away from the corpses. "R-Right, got it. And what about that thing on the floor?"
"Grublins. One of the Dark Master's new creations. Stupid, but numerous." It was the other figure that spoke up this time. She reached up with a paw to lower the cloth covering her face, revealing a wide grin.
"Oops, where are my manners?" She tapped at her forehead. "I'm Zara, daughter of Mojiz and Yonel, spear-maiden of the Hous-Mant Clan. It is an honour for make your acquaintance, Master Spyro. It will delight you to know that the legend of the Purple Dragon have reached the Crimson Lands as well."
"I . . . well, thanks? The pleasure is mine, I guess," Spyro spoke after some hesitation.
"Right, now that the whole introductions-thing is done, can we please get going?" Sparx suddenly cut in, taking back to the air and fluttering to Spyro's side. "I don't fancy our chances against a horde of vermin once they realize we are here."
"A wise point," Hunter nodded. "Zara, I'll take the lead. You keep an eye on our backs."
The fennec's eyes narrowed. "Slow down. There's no way we are taking the same way back. We would need to wade through a lot of fighting and hope the passageways have not been closed."
Hunter frowned. "It's the quickest way out," the cheetah stated.
"Not true. There are still the railways. The rats use them to move supplies and troops between outposts. Most of the guards are probably fighting in the upper levels." Then, she frowned. "I think there's one station near the laboratories. We would need to descend a couple of levels though."
Hunter hummed to himself, scratching his chin. "I don't like it. We don't know what's below us," he finally said.
"You asked for an idea. Do you have a better one, perhaps?"
Hunter didn't reply, his attention to Spyro instead. "What do you think? Which way should we take?"
Spyro pondered the matter for a few seconds before shaking the head. "Even with the Soul Gem, I probably need some time to recover. And I don't think jumping into a fight is a great idea right now."
Hunter said nothing for a moment. He simply glanced over his shoulder, frowning as he noticed the aura of smugness radiating off Zara. Finally, he nodded.
"Very well, the railway it is then."
"Amazing!" Sparx commented. "Is he actually employing his brain for once?"
"What's that supposed to mean? I always use my brain!" Spyro protested. The dragonfly simply raised an eyebrow, arms crossed.
"Oh yeah, sure. Do you want me to make a list about all the times you jumped into combat with things that were thrice your size? While we are at it, do you want it in chronological or alphabetical order?"
Spyro rolled his eyes in response. At least Sparx seemed to have recovered quickly from that whole ordeal.
"I'm sure you'd love to. Seriously though, I'm glad you are alright. When I woke up and didn't see you, well, I feared for the worst."
The dragonfly grinned. "Ah, thanks! Don't worry though, I wasn't going to let my brother down in the hour of need. Mister Ugly over there is lucky I was just distracting him. He might have been in real trouble otherwise."
"Didn't we literally had to save you on our way in though?" Zara said, raising an eyebrow.
"You did?" Spyro said. The fennec gave a quick nod. "I guess we both are in your debt then."
She chuckled, then shook her head. "There's no need. We just happened to chance upon him while a couple of rats had shoved him in a-"
"Don't say it!" Sparx blurted out.
"-lantern."
The dragonfly groaned, face pressed in his hands. "Why? Just, why did you have to tell him?!"
Zara tilted her head to the side in confusion, made all the more evident by Spyro's attempts at suppressing his giggling.
"Fantastic. Amazing. I'm serious, it's really great, you know. Just wait for the entire village back home to hear I got turned into a literal lantern cause a bunch of rats wanted to play a game of cards to kill time. They're gonna laugh at my expenses for years." He sniffed. "And one of them was probably cheating anyway!"
"Don't worry, Sparx," Spyro said, the grin on his mouth growing. "My jaws are wired shut. They won't hear a thing from me."
The dragonfly rolled his eyes, clearly unconvinced. "Oh yeah. Sure thing, buddy, I totally believe you." He shook his head. "Can we please get going already? The last thing I need is for miss Terror-of-the-Skies to hear that as well. If she doesn't eat me, the constant mocking I'll get will probably finish me off for good."
The moment his mind registered those words, Spyro's amusement died down as another thought crawled its way to his mind's forefront. He glanced around, eyes wide in alarm.
"Hold up, where's Cynder? She was with us, wasn't she? When the Well of Souls was destroyed."
His mind raced. Those last moments replayed themselves again and again in his mind, of him telling both her and Sparx to get closer so to cast Time Fury and protect them from the crumbling mountain. They had both done so, they had trusted him, even when he admittedly didn't have much of a plan. In fact, he wasn't even sure that would have worked. It was an act of desperation to save his friend; one last effort to gather all his remaining powers after his fight with Gaul and turn them to the sole tasks of protecting them.
Spyro shook those thoughts off his mind. He didn't want to think about what would have happened if he had been wrong, if his powers had failed him for just a single instant.
'That was far too close.'
"I'm unsure," Hunter said, wrenching Spyro's away from his own trail of thoughts. "Admittedly, we were lucky enough to chance upon your dragonfly friend on our way here."
"Then we must find her," Spyro said. By his side, Sparx sighed audibly.
"Do we really? Not to sound like the cold-hearted one here, but every time we meet that dragoness something goes bad. First the Weapons' Forge, then the Temple, then the-"
"Sparx . . ."
"Alright, fine! I'm just pointing this one out, that's all. Hey, I'm not saying we should leave her behind!" he added as he noticed Spyro's sceptical glance.
"Good, cause we aren't," Spyro said. He turned back to Hunter. "Any idea where she could be?"
"We could try the laboratories. They are pretty close to the railways," the cheetah noted.
"Alright, I guess they are worth a try. Which way?"
Hunter opened his mouth to respond, only to be interrupted the ground shaking below their feet. The walls trembled, dust and dirt falling down from the ceiling, followed by a cavernous roar echoing down the tunnels.
"That came from below," Zara commented. The fennec readied her spear, anticipating troubles.
"Oh, wonderful!" Sparx let out an exasperated groan. "Just so I'm getting this correctly, that's where we are planning on going, right?"
The rat patrol strolled past her hiding place and down the wooden bridge. Swaying lanterns casted their light about, bobbing as they moved away and out of sight. As they did, Cynder let out a breath she had not realized she was holding. She had thought her current resting place, tucked away behind some rock formations, to be secure. That patrol had come far too close to her liking. Still, they hadn't found her out yet, so that was a plus.
She looked up, her eyes catching the glistening droplets of water coming from the stalactites hanging high above her head. The rats had built their laboratories in some kind of large subterranean cavern; various structures of wood and stone lined the rocky walls, connected through a series of bridges, gangways and pulleys. A small lake was at its centre, the lights from the various underground structures reflecting off the dark and immobile surface.
Cynder restrained herself from sighing in irritation. They were making good progress so far, and security seemed in fact to be getting slacker.
'Probably it has something to do with the whole ruckus coming from above. Don't know what in hell is happening up there, but it's still a good distraction. Less patrols to avoid.'
The dragoness frowned as she glanced around. Where was Remy though? The otter was supposed to be back by now. She had agreed to let him scout ahead, but perhaps that had not been a great idea in hindsight. Despite his claims, the Cynder has yet to see any proof of his abilities. She scowled. Cynder didn't like the idea of depending on someone else and preferred to count on her strengths alone when possible. They had served her well so far.
The trail of thought was interrupted by the sound of dripping water coming close to her, followed by soft footsteps. Immediately Cynder pivoted around, ready for a fight. She relaxed only briefly when she saw Remy, the otter's fur soaked wet with water.
"Easy there, it's just me," he said as he placed down the bag he had been carrying on his shoulder. Cynder frowned; he didn't have that when he had first gone out.
"Where have you been?" Cynder asked. The otter didn't respond immediately, taking his time to perform a thorough shake of his wet fur and sending water flying all around him, much to Cynder's annoyance.
"Oh, sorry for that. Force of habit," Remy apologized with an awkward grin. "As for your question, I've been busy." He pulled out a series of object from the leather sack, all dry even if the sack appeared wet from the outside. It was mostly food in the form of hardtack, cheese and a few strips of dried meat.
"I thought you said you wanted to scout ahead, not scavage for supplies," Cynder hissed. "What if the rats had spotted you? I can't save your hide every time you take risks and deviate from our destination!"
"Relax, they didn't see me. They may have patrols on the gangways, but I am an otter. We can swim. I did some scouting and managed to grab a few things on the way out." Remy gave her a grin. "I can hold my own, you know. You should try and trust me a little bit more. We are a team right now."
"I don't do teams," Cynder replied. "I prefer to work on my own. There's less chance for mistakes that way."
"Not really surprised," Remy commented. He then offered Cynder some of the dried meat. The dragoness said nothing, limiting herself to a quizzical glance thrown his way.
"Look, you probably haven't eaten in a while and I have no idea what dragons do normally eat, so I've taken the first thing I found. Now, you want some or not?"
Cynder wanted to refuse; to stop wasting time and push ahead, ignoring the growling coming from her own stomach. Instead, she found herself reaching out with a foreleg and taking one strip off Remy's paws, before giving it a tentative bite. A bit salty to her tastes but still better than nothing. She quickly swallowed it whole.
"Thanks," Cynder muttered, before turning her attention back to the task at hand. "Did you manage to find where they're keeping Spyro?" The otter shrugged as he munched on some hardtack.
"Kinda. I overheard a couple of the rats talking about a dragon being held in the main laboratory while I was skulking around. No mention about them being purple though." He pointed at one opposite shore of the underground lake, towards a two-story structure looming over the lakefront. Its window glowed with opaque light.
Cynder frowned. "Not a great lead, but I guess it will have to do. Let's go then, we have wasted enough time already." She shot a glance toward her destination, her eyes studying possible routes of approach and how to better avoid the scattered patrols and sentinels. "You said you could swim, right? There's a small dock on the other side. Can you reach it? We'll meet there."
"I guess so," Remy replied. "Shouldn't be too hard. What about you? You plan on flying there?" Cynder shook her head, simply pointing a taloned finger upward. There was a soft greenish glow emanating off the stalactites hanging from the ceiling. Remy blinked.
"The hell?"
"Cavern fungi. They glow in the dark. Not very bright, but bright enough that if a rat glances upward they'll surely catch a glimpse of my silhouette. I'll have to take the path along the gangways."
"Fair," Remy said. "Mind if I eat a snack in the meantime?" Cynder rolled her eyes.
"Try not to take too long."
Without another word she turned around and set off in the darkness. The dragoness kept herself low on the uneven ground as she stalked forward, her own affinity to Shadow granting that slight advantage that allowed to move quickly and undetected. Like a veritable phantom, Cynder slipped past the rock formations dotting the lake shore, following the gangways from below and keeping her distance from the occasional sentry and patrol.
Cynder stalked them from the shadows, close enough that she smelt their stench and heard them chitter nervously amongst each other.
"Did you heard anything about what's happening in the upper tunnels?"
"Nothing. Sounds like a bloodbath though. My sister said Elder Agzot himself is leading the defence, and that she's never seen him so enraged."
"I bet he is," the rat said, sniffing. "How did the Grublins even manage to get inside the warren? You think Malefor sent them?"
"Who knows. Pissing off the Dark Master sure wasn't a great idea though, doesn't matter how smart the old rat think he is."
Despite herself, Cynder couldn't help but snort softly.
'Typical. Malefor's puppets fighting amongst themselves. Nothing new here. Still, that's an opportunity.'
Cynder was getting closer to her destination, the shadow of the main building looming over her, surrounded on three sides by a series of wooden shacks and depos. She halted for a moment, bolting to hide behind a pile of crates as a pair of rat sentinels came out from one of the smaller building, spears resting on their shoulder as they moved past her. Cynder waited for them to pass before darting ahead and between a pair of longhouses.
The main entrance was out of the question; she had already spotted a trio of mean-looking, heavily armoured guards there. Therefore, Cynder stuck as close as possible to the lakefront, far away from the lanterns and the light of campfires. Silently, the dragoness snuck past another pair of sentinels, her paws making barely a sound against the soil, though the two were looking everywhere but at her, their lanterns angled downwards.
"Are you kidding me?" one rat snapped. "How did you even manage to lose the spare key?!"
"Oh, shut up and help me instead!" the other acidly replied. "My overseer is gonna skin us both anyway if she finds out. I had it on me five minutes ago, so it can be far."
Cynder ignored their ramblings and pushed on. She lowered her body as low as possible as she skulked past a window from one of the shacks. Her ears caught the sound of raucous laughter from inside. Eventually the gravel of the shore gave way to wooden planks as Cynder found herself on a small dock over the lake, its surface pitch black due to a lack of lanterns. The place was deserted aside from a barge moored there, likely meant to carry supplies from one side of the lake to the other. Its only occupant was busy snoring away on the bridge.
Cynder simply ignored him, turning her attention elsewhere. There was in fact a sturdy-looking door connecting the main laboratory with the docks. Locked, of course. Needless to say, breaking it down would have caused unwanted attention. Aside from that, the lack of any windows on the ground floor meant that only those on the two floors above would be possible entry points, and risky ones at that.
Once again, her thoughts came to a halt as her ears caught the sound of dripping water from behind. This time, she limited herself to a sigh.
"Took your time," Cynder muttered.
"Yeah well, you try swim in absolute darkness next time," Remy countered with a small grin. The otter still had his pilfered bag with him. "Having problems with the door?"
"I was actually waiting for you," Cynder lied. "You can pick the lock, right?"
The otter shot a look at the door, frowning as he hummed to himself.
"That one look sturdy. Someone really wants to keep people out."
"Yes, I can see that. It's a door. They do that. Now, can you please open it?"
"If I had half an hour? Probably," Remy said as he reached for one of his pockets. He pulled out a key. "But you look like you're in a hurry so I'm not gonna bother with it." He took a step forward, sunk the key in the keyhole and gave it a twist. There was a snap as the lock opened and the door swung open.
Remy grinned as he made a dramatic bow and held the door for her. "Ladies first."
Cynder tilted her head to the side. "Since when you have a key?"
"Since when I found one."
"And did you happen to find it in the pocket of a rat guard?" Cynder wondered with a thin smile. The dragoness stepped inside, and Remy closed the door behind them. A corridor leading further into the building awaited them.
"It's not my fault they are careless," Remy whispered. "Now, which way?"
The dragoness frowned, pondering the matter for a moment before shaking her head. "Not sure. Spyro might very well be anywhere, so we need to check every room."
"Alright, fine," Remy nodded. "Why are you even that determined to find him anyway? Like, I know he's the Purple Dragon and all that, but jeez."
Cynder shot him a sceptical glance and, after some hesitations, she sighed. "Let's just say I have a debt to repay and leave it at that."
'He offered you his help when no one else would have. Help you didn't deserve to begin with.'
The dragoness shook those thoughts off her head. "Enough of this. Let's go." She hoped Remy hadn't notice her grinding her teeth together.
The two pushed past the second door leading out of the small anteroom. And then immediately came to a halt, blinking repeatedly as they adjusted to the new surroundings.
It turned out there were no rooms at all; the entire structure was one giant environment, effectively arranged as a warehouse. Metal gangways hovered above their heads, looming over an open environment filled with crates, working benches and other forms of machinery utterly alien to Cynder. And rats of course. There were dozens of rats there, some donning long robes or practical working clothes; the rest were decked in various forms of armour.
Cynder cursed under his breath, snatched Remy by his collar and bolted behind a pair of stacked barrels.
"I thought you said this was a laboratory," Cynder snapped at him, her irate tone barely above the whisper.
"That's what I heard them saying! How was I supposed to know there were these many guards?" he countered. Cynder frowned but said nothing more. The dragoness peeked out of their new hiding spot. The light coming out from hanging lanterns failed to reach that corner of the building, casting it in a penumbra sufficient to hide their presence. Cynder narrowed her eyes and tried to make a mental calculation of all the guards present. It did not take long for her to get an even grimmer picture.
'Twenty-five armed rats out of forty. Five more sentinels with crossbows on the gangways above. I don't like those odds.'
"It's bad, isn't it?" Remy muttered. The otter must have followed the movement of her eyes as they darted around. Cynder simply nodded. She opened her mouth to reply but the words died in her throat. Her eyes widened as they settled on the figure on the other side of the room.
It turned out Remy had been right on at least one particular. There was indeed a dragon in the laboratory, though it clearly wasn't Spyro. She was maybe a few feet taller that him, thought that was hard to determine as she was laying on one side and on the ground. Her scales were a pale green with the occasional streak of brown. Thick-looking chains were wrapped tightly around her chest, wings, neck, and legs, effectively keeping her pinned down. Even from that distance, Cynder could spot the soft glow emanating from the chains themselves, magical enchantments.
Cynder's stomach churned however as she spotted the evident signs of abuse on her. Aside from the evident bruises, there were wide gashes on her pelt. As if someone had forcefully and brutally ripped away the scales to expose the pink skin beneath. Even from that distance, Cynder knew the dragoness was in pain. Her chest rose only barely.
Cynder grinded her teeth.
'Animals.'
She caught sight of something else though, specifically a glowing Soul Gem resting on one of the working benches. That gave Cynder an idea. She nudged Remy in the side.
"I need a favour."
"Another one?"
"That Soul Gem over there. Can you take it?"
The otter looked up, a frow appearing on his face. "Need a recharge, uh? Well, that will not be easy. There are a lot of rats betwen us and that. Unless we distract them, there's no way that's gonna happen. I don't like pushing my luck that much."
"Understood. What kind of distraction?"
A sharp whistle echoed through the air. The rats ceased their chittering, turning fully their attention to an armoured figure that had just entered the building, followed by a few more rats cladded in robes and carrying a couple of long wooden boxes between them.
A wolf, his fur silver-grey with a white underbelly, strode confidently before the assembled rats. He wore a set of heavy plate armour coupled with a skirt of chainmail, tingling softly as he moved. From that distance, Cynder had trouble identifying the coat-of-arms on his tabard. There was a big grin on his muzzle.
"Good, you have made it! I think we can begin then." His voice boomed, the wolf towering over the rest by a foot or two. He calmly placed his paws behind his back.
"In case any of you had been living under a rock all this time, allow me to remind you who stands before you." he said, sniffing the air. "I'm Ludovicus Traius, Protector of the Westward March and rightful heir by blood of the Crown of Aquilia. For now, an exile." His grin widened. "And, with the Dark Master's assistance, I plan on changing that. But enough about me, as pleasant as that is. Let us focus on the offer I bring you today."
Cynder could almost feel her eyes rolling all the way back into her skulls. In her experience, those that placed too much emphasis on void titles tended to forget that they could bleed and die like the rest.
"Well, that's a distraction alright. Give me a moment," Remy whispered, just as he started inching forward, his smaller form allowing him to pass beneath the working benches undetected. Cynder mostly ignored him though, her attention focused solely on the wolf. He was speaking again.
"As most of you have already managed to infer, the thing standing behind me is a dragoness. Her name is Ophelia, or at least that's the name she gave us when the torturers were done working. As she has nothing more of value to offer us, she will assist me today. How we managed to capture her is inconsequential to the discussion. As with most encounters with dragons however, it was a costly fight." He frowned, waving his paw behind.
"We are more than capable of facing any force the Alliance throws our way and annihilate them on the field, but even a single flying wing of dragons can bring us to a halt. They are tough, powerful, and wield powerful elemental magic." He paused for dramatic effect, amber-coloured eyes glinting in the penumbra. "And I believe it is time to change that."
As if on cue, the rats that had come with him began pulling open the boxes. Instinctively, Cynder craned her head to get a better look at what was inside. She was too far though.
"There you go," Remy whispered. Cynder turned around to find the otter standing again by her side, this time with a glowing Soul Gem in his paws.
"You've done it already?" Cynder asked with genuine surprise. The otter simply shrugged as he offered her the crystal. The dragoness accepted it, but then hesitated just a moment, her eyes glancing back at Remy.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" he asked.
The dragoness shook her head. "Nothing, it's just, well . . ." She paused, the words refusing to come out. She wanted to thank him, she really did. A part of her recognized that she wouldn't have gotten that far without his help. Despite her reservation, Remy had done nothing but being helpful and upheld his end of the bargain.
Eventually, Cynder shook her head. "Nothing. You've been quick, that's all." She turned her attention fully to the Soul Gem, her strengths already increasing the moment her paws came into contact with it. She felt as if a heavy burden had finally been lifted from her chest.
"While I was at it," Remy said, pulling out a piece of parchment, "I scooped up something interesting. Apparently, there's some kind of rail network throughout the warrens. Even better, there's a terminal nearby. If we follow this map, we should be able to reach the outside and-"
He stopped for a moment, eyes furrowed as he glanced back up, sniffing the air. "Do you smell that too?"
It took a moment for Cynder to realize what he was referring to. She turned slowly towards the barrels they had been using as cover, a cold chill running down her spine as her mind finally registered the acrid smell. One she had grown intimately familiar with over the years spent on campaigning with the Dark Armies.
'Gunpowder. They are filled with gunpowder!'
The baffling fact that someone would be stupid enough to store gunpowder into a laboratory had to be momentarily put aside. The wolf, Ludovicus, was addressing the gathered rats again, this time holding something in his paws.
"I assume most of you are familiar with muskets," he said, lifting the firearm high in the air to everybody to see. "A true marvel of Aquilian engineering and a powerful weapon of war, even if the Republican scum back home has made it the symbol of their insurrection. A force equipped with these can bring down any dragon given enough time and ammunition. Still, there's room for improvement."
Another robed rat took a step forward and handed him a small paper container together with a ball of lead. The wolf bit on the paper, ripped it open and poured the powder down the barrel, before inserting the ball as well.
"Lift her up," he commanded. Chains rattled behind as rats pulled at a series of cranks and pulleys, lifting the dragoness up and forcing her to stand back on her feet. A different set of chains around her neck lifted her head high. She blinked, slowly, puffy red eyes scanning across the room at a glacial pace. And then, they settled on Cynder.
Her heart tightened in her chest. Could she see her from there? Maybe she could, or maybe that was just an impression. The dragoness, Ophelia, moved silently her lips, but she appeared to lack the strength to emit anything but a soft hiss, barely a whimper. Still, those eyes never left Cynder. There was nothing in that gaze, not fear, nor rage. Nothing but complete emptiness.
"Dragon scales are a tough armour to pierce," the wolf continued, pulling back the firearm's cockscrew and its flint. "However, thanks to the efforts of your engineers, we now know that Soul Gems, once pulverized and properly treated, can act as a powerful accelerant for gunpowder. I believe a demonstration is in order."
Without another word, Ludovicus turned around, raised his weapon at the dragoness, and then pulled the trigger.
The powerful discharge echoed across the enclosed space, the violent crack lasting for an eyeblink as a crimson cloud erupted from the barrel of the gun; the kickback was tremendous, capable of pushing the barrel upward despite the wolf's firm grip.
The dragoness's neck exploded in a blossoming fountain of blood, the bullet punching a deep crater in the flesh before coming to a halt. Cynder could do nothing but watch as the dragoness's eyes widened for one last instant before going dull, forever. The rats released the chains and the lifeless body hit the floor unceremoniously, the now useless restraints clattering against the ground.
Ludovicus turned around to his now silent audience, blood splattered on his grey-furred face. There was a wide predatorial grin on his face as he licked the blood off his muzzle, teeth glistening under the lanterns' light. Murmurs of approval spread across the crowd of rats, especially amongst the warriors.
"A handful of soldiers equipped with these improved weapons," Ludovicus said, hefting the weapon once more, "can easily square off against a nest and slay the dragons inside. They can rely on their breath all they want, but we have more lead than they have magic."
"However," he said, raising a paw, "as you can probably surmise by yourself, we still don't have much of this new powder. I will not pretend to understand the manufacturing process, yet fear not. The Dark Master has given me his personal blessing to put the available stocks to good use, and that is why I'm before you today."
He strode before the crowd as he spoke; every word, every syllable burning with intensity.
"The dragons might hide behind Warfang's walls, yet there are many more that still live outside, in scattered nests and communities. We now have the tools to hunt them all down, to crack their nests open like nuts and take what it's inside for us! They can run; they can fight; they can beg. Nothing of that will matter! Not one shall escape us!"
"I offer a contract to all those willing to accept it. Fight for me. Help me root them out from their caves and hiding places! Their hoards of gold and gems are waiting, they're ripe for the taking. The Crimson Blades are ready to accept anyone willing to join our ranks, even if for a limited period." He flashed them a broad grin.
"Of course, you'll be able to keep a nice slice of loot for yourself."
There were murmurs amongst the gathered warriors, a couple of the engineers joining in the discussion as well. They appeared rather intrigued by the idea. From her hiding place, Cynder frowned. Crimson Blades? What in ancestors' name was that? It wasn't a name she was familiar with.
As for dragons' hoards, she knew enough about her own kind to dismiss that as nothing more than myth. Kobold tribes were known to make offerings to nearby nests out of some kind of devotion, but those varied. Half the time it was just food.
Remy drew in a sharp breath by her side.
"Fuck. I thought I had seen him somewhere." He shot Cynder a quick glance. "M-Maybe we should leave. Like, right now. Get out of here and start looking for that railway thing."
"You've met him before?" Cynder asked tensely. The otter shook his head.
"Nah. I've just heard about Crimson Blades. It's kinda hard not to. Used to be this small mercenary band once, then shit hits the wall in Aquila, the royal family lose their heads, and the prince buys the mercenary company wholesale. Or forces them to join him at sword point, not sure which one is the right one." Remy paused, peering carefully over the pile of barrels.
"Now they are this big outfit working for Malefor. They like doing really nasty shit to their enemies. Like, real nastiness. They, uh . . ." Remy hesitated once again.
"They've earned a reputation for killing and skinning dragons," he said quietly. "They're not the kind of people one like you should hang around."
Cynder said nothing, eyes darting back towards the dead dragoness, ignoring whatever bullcrap the wolf was blabbering on about. Her dull eyes were a deep blue. There was an expanding pool of blood beneath her.
"I can see that." Her voice was only barely above a whisper, a cold edge creeping in.
The doors on the other side of the hall were flung open as rat guard rushed in, sweating profusely and panting all the way.
"There has been a Grublin breach in the fifth level!" he shouted in panic. "The Purple Dragon has gotten out! We need all soldiers available, now!"
Silence fell within the hall. Cynder blinked. For a brief moment, a bright spark of hope flared up in her. Spyro was down there and still alive, praise be to the Ancestors. Now, it was only a matter of reaching him.
'Easier said than done. Still, you got this far, Cynder. No point in turning back now.'
The clatter of weapons alerted her as the rats sprang into action, picking up equipment, donning their gear in a hurry, and hefting weapons as they rushed towards the door. Even the rat arbalists from the upper gangways joined in after some initial hesitations. Soon enough, the laboratory was empty. Aside from the wolf, that is.
"Remember, the offer is still valid!" Ludovicus shouted after them. "You know where to find me! The Crimson Blades are always ready to-" he trailed off once the doors simply slammed shut. He frowned, then spat on the ground once alone.
"Fucking rats," he hissed, the words echoing easily within the now silent structure. "Can't believe I'm begging help from them! I wish Gaul was still around, those simpletons under him were so much easier to sway away."
He glanced to the side, his eyes sizing up the dead dragoness for a few moments. He shrugged, reaching behind for his dagger.
"Well, no point in wasting a kill. Those scales should fetch a good prize," Ludovicus mused aloud. The wolf crouched down and set off to work with the blade. Cynder looked away. She had seen enough. The wet sounds of flesh and skin coming her way painted quite the picture in her head of what he was doing. The missing scales on the dragoness's hide make all that much sense now.
'Fucking animals.'
"Alright, let's get going," Remy whispered in her ear. He too looked as if he was about to get sick.
Cynder said nothing. She stood still as a marble statue, chest barely moving at all. It took all of her self-control not to grind her teeth. The dragoness bit the inside of her cheek until she felt the taste of blood.
The rhythmic squelching was still there, coupled with the huffs of exertion from the wolf as he patiently cut through the flesh. The stench of iron spread through the air. It was a smell familiar to Cynder, one she thought she had long grown numb to.
She was wrong.
"You go," Cynder whispered between clenched teeth. "Find this railway. I'll join you in a bit."
"What? Why? Are you-" he began. Cynder glanced at him. A mere glance was all it took to silence him. Seeing him flinching back in fear, a visible shiver running through his body, Cynder briefly wondered what the otter had seen in her eyes. The thought lasted for an eyeblink though. She knew already the answer.
"Ah . . . I . . . I-I mean, yeah sure. Easy enough. I'll . . . I'll better get going." He made to go.
"Remy?" Cynder said. "If I am not back in five minutes, you go without me. They'll probably won't notice you in the mess."
"Mess?"
Cynder shook her head. "Nevermind. Just go."
Remy said nothing, his eyes moving over her shoulder and toward the wolf at work over the dragoness's body. He gave her a nod, as if he understood what would soon happen, then he finally set off the same way they had come in. The door made not the slightest noise as the otter left the building.
Slowly, Cynder exhaled. Her tail twitched behind her.
Then the squelching noise stopped.
"I assume the otter has finally left," Ludovicus called out, voice echoing throughout the laboratory. Cynder whipped her head around, catching a glimpse of the wolf raising from his crouch, chainmail clinking. He slid the blade back in the sheath. He turned around in her direction, a predatory grin stretched across his lips, teeth glistening.
"His stench was almost unbearable, you know," Ludovicus growled as stepped forward, eyes scanning his surroundings with deliberate slowness. He cracked his knuckles loudly.
"Here we are, the two of us. I'm sure the rats won't mind we use their laboratory as a playing ground for the time being."
He lifted his head high, inhaling the air with a satisfied sigh. Cynder finally registered the longsword hanging from his back. His yellow eyes shone with anticipation.
"So tell me, dragon, do you plan on coming out of your hiding place anytime soon? Or do I need to flush you out like your very dead friend here?"
